


Let's Meet Ugly!

by findgraves



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-19 02:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3592437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findgraves/pseuds/findgraves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of AU one-shots where Michael and Trevor meet... in unconventional ways.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Drive!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling this prompt: "You were chased by the cops, got in my car and just yelled ‘Drive!'"

North Yankton sucks. As far as I can remember, it’s always sucked.  
I’m not talking of the snow and the cold and the stiff bitches and the even stiffer assholes, but of how just incredibly ugly this place is.  
The American dream starts fading the closer you get to the Canadian border.  
I’ve been driving for ages trying to bring this wreck to Ludendorff, where a new job awaits me. Well, at least I hope it does.  
My last job interview didn’t go very well: I can’t remember all the details, but the pencil up the interviewer’s left nostril, that I remember.  
This clunker’s radio is buzzing, has been for the last few hours. I want to listen to some fucking music, not to the stereo’s last dying noises.  
« Work! » I punch it, cursing out, and as a response the little shit falls off and lands with a small thump on the floor.  
I can feel the rage flowing through my veins. I already hate Ludendorff.  
Since I don’t want to turn to mush against some guardrail, I decide to stop at a service station.  
« Fucking, shitty radio! »  
I get out of the car and lean on the hood: the cold air calms my nerves as it tickles my face’s tense skin. I grab a lighter from my jacket’s pocket and play with it in my hands.  
I should stop smoking.  
Maybe North Yankton is not that bad. Maybe I’m just that bad, so that everything looks horrible through my eyes.  
If beauty is in the eye of the beholder, I guess it works the same way for abomination.  
I’m starting to think like one of those old bearded philosophers, fuck. That’s why I dropped school.  
« There’s no beauty in this place. » I mutter to myself « Just shit, shit everywhere. This is exactly where I belong. »  
That's when I see a weird figure in a hurry coming towards me. I instinctively think of the gun that’s hidden under my seat and I wonder why it’s not in my hands right now.  
The figure is yelling something.  
It’s a man, no, a boy. A tubby boy in his twenties, with very short and dark hair.  
I don’t know what to do.  
He’s carrying a gun.  
I can hear the sound of his boots on the asphalt.  
He’s running faster and faster.  
« Fuck! » I mutter as I wake from my torpor and quickly get inside the car, looking for the keys to start it up and run the fuck away.  
I’m probably not that fast, because in a heartbeat the car door on the right is open and the young man is sitting next to me, breathless, his head turned to look back over his shoulder.  
« Hey, man! » he inhales « Start this shit up! Let’s go! Drive, c’mon! They’re after me! »  
Those words startle me and I realize that a pair of policemen are running to their patrol car, probably to chase after us. I stare back at the stranger in disbelief, it’s all happening too fast.  
He turns to face me and I can finally see his blue eyes sparkling with something that looks like fear?  
Excitement?  
Adrenaline?  
I can’t tell.  
But dude’s got striking eyes, that’s for sure.  
« What the fuck are you doing? Start this wreck up, we need to run, now! » he shouts and I’m back to reality.  
« Who the fuck are you? »  
« Listen, you wanna go to jail? Because I don’t want for sure! So either you start driving or I’m pushing your corpse away from the goddamn steering wheel! »  
So that’s how love at first sight works, huh?  
I don’t let him repeat the concept twice as I push my foot on the accelerator pedal and start driving like a madman, escaping from the police. My passenger gasps, and a little smirk appears on my face.  
I can feel the adrenaline burning my bones, setting on fire all of my nerve endings.  
After a while he pulls his gun out.  
« You have one, kid? » he says pointing at it.  
« Yeah, under my seat. »  
I don’t even know why I tell him. I don’t know anything about this man and his intentions, he could kill me after and if we lose the cops. I glance at him and notice that he looks very focused, his lips are compressed in a thin line and there are furrows on his forehead. His pupils are dilated, fuck, they're huge!  
« What’s your name, kid? » he asks without looking at me, hands still holding his gun.  
I can’t help but let a snigger out.  
« I’m Trevor. And don’t call me kid, we’re probably the same age. »  
« ‘M sorry. I’m Michael, by the way. » he smiles for the first time, and I can’t help but smile back.  
« Hope you’re not scared, Trevor, you’re doing good. We’re losing them. » Michael tries to soothe me, even though I don’t really need it. It’s not the first time that I’m being chased by the police, or nasty angry people for all that matters. I may not be the best driver, but I know how to lose the law.  
« Why are they after you? » I ask out of curiosity.  
« I robbed a man a few kilometers away from here. » he states calmly, as if it were normal routine for him « Those motherfuckin’ cops probably followed me. My car’s dead. Hope this one will make it tho! » he taps the window, sarcastically referring to the awful state of my vehicle.  
« It’s not mine. I robbed it. » I grin with my eyes fixed on the road.  
I don’t need to look to know that Michael’s smiling at me. 

***  
When we’ve finally lost the cops, it’s night. I glance at my passenger and realize that he’s sleeping.  
How the fuck can a man snore like that while being chased by the police? He has to be really tired or really stupid. Either way, I don’t wake him. It’s nice having someone that calm next to me for once, and he’s not even wasted!  
Since I didn’t know where to go, I’ve driven all the way to Ludendorff and now we’re here.  
I pull over to rest. The car’s radio still lies forgotten under Michael’s seat, next to his boots. It probably made me lose another job, but maybe gave me a new friend.  
Michael’s lips are curled in disdain and his brows are still furrowed. He looks like the type of guy who can’t rest without a gun in his hand, always ready to smash your skull and paint the snow with the red of your blood. Not that I’m different.  
For a moment I think of my mom, of my brother. My father beating me with his belt and staining the carpet, people screaming.  
I breathe.  
There's snow outside, there's snow everywhere and I'm sitting here, in this gelid car, next to a sleeping criminal, dazzled by the whiteness.  
Maybe North Yankton is not that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the first time I write from Trevor's POV (funny that it's also the first thing I publish for this fandom), because it's really difficult for me to understand him and I hate writing completely OOC. But this is an AU and it's set when - I guess - he still has some kind of balance, so I hope it's fine.   
> This work was unspired by this Tumblr post tokiosunset.tumblr.com/post/105774914690.
> 
> Since English is not my native language, if you see grammar or vocabulary mistakes, I beg you, let me know.


	2. I'm sorry I hit you!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling this prompt: "I hit you with my car and was the only one to visit you in the hospital.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Michael hits Trevor with his car.

**1989\. North Yankton.**  
It’s snowing. Has been for the last few hours – or days, I can’t recall.  
The roads outside Ludendorff have become so slippery that it feels more like ice-skating than driving, but one’s gotta do what it must be done to survive. And surviving may be the very only talent of mine.  
Considering what happened during the last 24 hours, I gotta say I’m lucky: I’ve lost the cops with this ‘84 Rover 200, which they said it would be a nice car. It probably was, five years ago!  
Back to us, I’ve just robbed a liquor shop, got myself a pittance - like 2000 dollars - and now I’m trying to make it to the closest service station.  
I’m frozen to the bones, but I don’t really care. Not now.  
I was raised in the worst slums of the Midwest, spent my childhood inside a dirty trailer with my dirty family. My father wasn’t very kind to me, so that this freezing wind feels more like a caress, compared to his steady fist.  
Death doesn’t really scare me.  
Maybe I will die in North Yankton, hopefully with a gun in my hand and a chick on my dick. Maybe I’ll grow old and soft, and move to San Andreas to waste the last years of my pathetic life burning under a lazy sun.  
Nah, I hope I die before I get old.  
I'm a robber, but who cares? Jesus Christ was crucified with two thieves.  
As for the ones I rob, their stories don't interest me that much. People deserve to be manipulated and fooled: it's their stupidity that condemns them to a life of constant struggling.  
Shit.  
The weather is worsening and it’s hard to even see a damn thing; I got a tune stuck in my head, something sung by Madonna’s annoying voice, but I can’t remember the name. These stupid songs all sound the same.  
Suddenly a flash blinds me for one second, probably a glare from the snow: I waste other seconds looking for my gun under the passenger’s seat, because you never know. When I look up, there’s a man on the road and it’s just too late to avoid him.  
« Fuck, fuck, fuck! »  
I slam my foot on the brake pedal so hard I think I may have twisted my ankle, and the car immediately slows down, not enough to avoid the impact with the figure standing in front of me; his body, tossed over the hood, hits the windshield like a fucking bullet, cracking its surface. Then it falls down to the right side of the vehicle.  
I am paralyzed. For a few seconds I can't think properly: my brain is frozen and my heart is thumping so hard against my chest that I'm convinced it will soon burst out.  
It's not like I have never killed someone, but until now it had been pure necessity.  
I gotta help him. I could call an ambulance. Fuck, I've just robbed a liquor shop and lost the cops, I can't show up at a hospital with an almost dead man. But is he dead?  
I slowly open the car's door with trembling hands and move one hesitant step into the snow, checking the point of impact first: the windshield is cracked, but still intact. There's no blood on it.  
That's a good sign for him and a bad sign for my morals.  
I slowly circumvent the car, my boots producing a weird sound as they sink in the snow. Then I see him.  
« Holy shit.»  
The man – looks more like a kid – is lying on the white ground, long hair ruffled on his closed eyes and lips slightly parted; if I hadn’t hit him with my car, I’d think he’s taking a nap in the snow. He looks peaceful, enveloped in a halo of white candor.  
I could leave him here, except he would probably die of hypothermia.  
But, hey, I don’t know him. Why should I run the risk?  
I kneel beside the dark mass of his hair and grab his wrist to test his pulse. Relief flushes my skin when I verify that his heart is still pumping blood through his pale body. I wipe the hair away from his eyes: he looks young, probably my age. There are cuts on his face, but nothing serious.  
I stand up and stare at the white sky.  
I gotta take a decision.  
« Fuck! »  
***  
It’s been many hours since I brought the kid to Ludendorff’s hospital. Trevor, or so the papers he held say. Nobody has come to visit yet, not a single person.  
« What the fuck are you doing, M? » I murmur to myself, leaning on the wall.  
Good thing the liquor shop I robbed is actually pretty far from the city.  
This could be the first time I actually do something good. It doesn’t matter that I was the one who did the damage in the first place, right? Had to abandon the Rover 200 a few kilometers away from here and call an ambulance, to avoid inconvenient questions. Told them I was there when the kid was hit, but couldn’t stop the road hog. They bought it. Fuckin’ a!  
The doctor comes out and I glance at him, asking myself whether I should say something.  
« You’re the one who found mister Philips? »  
« Yes, sir. »  
« We’ve tried to contact relatives and friends, but nobody is answering the phone. »  
My heart shrinks a little. Poor guy, he could be even more lonely and miserable than I am.  
« How is he? »  
« Oh, not bad. » the doctor reassuringly smiles « The car that hit him wasn’t running that fast. Just a small concussion and a broken wrist. »  
« If that’s not bad, doc! » I say sarcastically. I have seen people flip shit for one broken wrist.  
« Mister Philips will be okay. You already talked to the police, I presume. You’re free to go. »  
« Can I see him? »  
Yeah, Michael, keep pushing your luck, dude!  
The doctor sends me a suspicious look, but he eventually nods.  
« Yes. Yes, you can. He’s conscious now. Just don’t tire him. »  
He leads me to what I presume is Trevor’s room and lets me in, closing the door behind me.  
I’m alone. He’s awoke.  
I lean my back against the cream wall, which smells like hospitals. I fucking hate that smell, disease stench, a warning that ‘here you suffer and here you die’. Luckily, this doesn’t seem Trevor’s case.  
As soon as his dark eyes are on me, I’m tempted to run away. But I don’t.  
He breaks the silence.  
« You must be the man who called the ambulance, right? Thanks dude! Hadn’t been for you, I’d be in the fucking ground now. »  
Hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t be on the bed of a fucking hospital.  
« Duty. » I reply faking a proud grin.  
What a dick.  
« You don’t remember a single thing, right? »  
« Nada. The accident? Blank slate. »  
I nod, relieved. What the hell, I know that every single minute that passes I’m digging my grave; this guy could recognize me, he could call the cops, put me in jail for a long time. Now that I’ve verified his condition, I could just leave, put as much distance between me and Ludendorff as I can.  
« Listen, kid, I - » I stutter « Erm, it’s been nice, but – but I gotta go. Got some shit to do, eh, a – a job. »  
« I could help you! » Trevor’s face lightens « I owe you my life. You saved me, I want to repay you. »  
Oh no.  
« I didn’t save you, I swear, I don’t need anything. We’re okay, now rest. »  
« You saved my life! » Trevor insists « What’s this job you gotta do? »  
« Eh, nothing. Things! Bad things! »  
« I’m the king of bad things! Listen, I got nothing to lose. No job, no ties! And you seem a cool guy, I’d love to work for you, do the dirty part! I like getting my hands dirty. »  
That look of pure admiration. What the hell is wrong with this kid? He’s literally asking me to let him do the dirty work, and he doesn’t even know what dirty work I’m talking about! I’m not sure that building a partnership on lies is a good idea, but God only knows how much I need a partner in crime at the moment.  
This Trevor could be perfect: no ties, so if he were to die it would be just another invisible hobo vanishing in the mist, and – no, no! I don't know him, he may be completely deranged, or just a lonely man looking for the thrill of his life. I need someone focused, with thick skin and cold blood, capable of killing if necessary.  
I take a deep breathe.  
« Ever held a gun? »  
Trevor glances at me in confusion.  
« Are you a cop? »  
« What? No, God, no! » I laugh « I’m the complete opposite. »  
He smirks, his eyes sparkle with excitement.  
Shit, this is going to be a huge mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a slow writer.  
> This one is too long maybe, but I love writing from Michael's POV.  
> I don't really like how it turned out, hope you enjoy.


	3. Afraid of flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Filling this prompt: “This is a five-hour-long plane ride, we’re sitting together and you’re deathly afraid of flying” AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is way longer than the others, around 2.000 words.

I haven’t been sleeping for almost 34 hours. Maybe that’s the reason why the world seems so muffled this morning, as if I were getting over a terrible hangover. I feel like my feet don’t touch the ground, an invisible force helping me to walk straight. There’s such a big fuss inside my head, my ears are buzzing.  
Toronto was nice and warm, just like the hooker I had the chance to hold last night. I’d gladly sink my penis into anything at the moment, even the closest door’s keyhole, but my legs feel dizzy and I have to take a plane to Los Santos. It’s not the first time I’m going to the States, nor it is the first time I’m going to San Andreas: but fuck Los Santos, fuck those fake plastic folks and their fake plastic smiles, unreal people.  
If I didn’t have a job to do, important dealers to meet, I’d cut my feet before landing so that I’d never touch that polished ground. But I’ll take the polished money, thanks.  
When I pass the airport’s security check, they’re already boarding my flight.  
« Get the fuck out! » I growl to a very slow walking lady who’s wearing the trashiest heels I’ve seen in a while. I ignore her protests and head straight to the departure gate, boarding pass in my hands.  
Almost all passengers have been boarded, since there’s only a man in line talking to an airline assistant, a pretty brunette with big, brown eyes and full lips. They’re discussing about seats on the plane and by hearing their voices, they both seem exhausted.  
« Listen, sweetheart. » the man sighs, resting is elbows on the desk « I’m not asking for the moon. I just want better seats and I’m willing to pay. Ain’t nothing your lovely face can do for me? »  
« You are very polite, Mr Townley, but… »  
« Please, just call me Michael. »  
The lady giggles and I feel like I’m going to puke. I can’t see this Michael’s face, but I already know that I hate him: he must be one of those rich, aged American turds who think they can buy anything with their dirty money. He must also look good, seeing how the girl is swooning over his bullshit.  
« As I said, Michael » the lady resumes and I cough to hide a laughter « we can’t upgrade your economy class seat. It’s too late and, besides that, both business and first class are full. »  
« Please, this is really a matter of life and death. » Michael begs, and I suddenly would like to separate his jaw from the rest of his face with a punch « I’ve got money. I chose American Airlines because I believe you’re the best company in the States at the moment. I’m a loyal client. »  
« Michael, I am so sorry, I truly am. I believe you, but there is no availability. »  
« I can give you something in return, please, what’s your name? Daisy? Listen, Daisy, I’m a producer. I make movies. Do you want to star in a movie? Maybe with Richard Gere? I can make you a star, just find me this goddamn seat! »  
At this point I know for sure that this well-dressed chubby liar is a proper moron, and my blood starts boiling.  
« Hey, Michael! » I step in, grabbing his shoulder « No harsh feelings, but it’s clear that this lady is not lying and we don’t have the whole fucking day, so why don’t you just fuck off with your beloved Richard Gere? »  
The idiot turns and he happens to have the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen in my damned life. Fuck me.  
He’s got the stupidest shocked look on his face, as if nobody ever dared to call him out like that. I’m pretty sure my dick just twitched.  
Professional asshole Michael fucking Townley must be around twenty-five years old, even if he acts like a man in his forties; he’s got thin lips and a slightly curved nose, dark hair and a Vinewood face.  
I expect him to punch me in the face, but he just shrugs his shoulders and grabs his boarding pass.  
« Okay, then. Fucking economy class, so be it. »  
Then he leaves.  
***  
I blow a kiss to the pilot as I enter the plane. While he frowns, a beautiful flight assistant accompanies me to my seat.  
« Here we are, Mr Philips. Have a nice flight. »  
« Will try, sugar. »  
I’m about to sit, when I glance at the passenger next to me and I freeze.  
It’s the professional asshole, Michael Townley. He’s reading a newspaper and looks very concentrated.  
Suddenly the pilot’s voice fills the air, warning us that the flight departure will be delayed of ten minutes.  
I leave my bag on the seat. Michael looks up and when our eyes lock, he scowls a little.  
Heading to the toilette seems the best option I have, not because the fat turd scares me, but I need to wash my face and get rid of all the dirty thoughts that are crowding into my mind.  
The restroom is pleasantly clean and accessorized for a five-hours flight. I could improvise a terrible attack of dysentery and just stay here for the rest of the trip, at least I’d be sure that I won’t kill or hump anyone.  
Somebody knocks on the door with annoying stubbornness, and I roll my eyes.  
« Occupied. »  
Whoever it is, they keep knocking and I lose my temper.  
« Are you fucking deaf? I said it’s occupied you piece of - »  
The door quickly opens and I mentally curse myself for not locking it. Michael Townley gets in the tiny room, slams the door behind him and grabs my neck, a murderous light in his eyes.  
« Listen to me, you dipshit, ‘cause I won’t repeat it. » he mutters, pushing me against the wall « You pull that show again, I fucking kill you with my bare hands. Are we done? »  
I laugh into his face and his grip tightens around my throat.  
« What the fuck are you laughing at? »  
« I – I got it, cowboy. » I gabble without flinching « Now let me go, before I snap those fat fingers of yours. »  
He looks dazed, but eventually lets go. I fall on my knees, almost chocking.  
« If you wanted me to suck your cock you could’ve asked, sugar. »  
Michael doesn’t seem fazed by my provocation: he rolls up his sleeves and shows off a dashing grin.  
« You wish. »  
***  
When we’re both back to our seats, the plane is ready to take off.  
I’m still pretty breathless, in every sense. My dick has already twitched twice in one hour and that’s not a good sign. Michael is focused on something outside the window, but I notice the way his hands are gripping the armrests, knuckles going white. He seems nervous, like, really nervous.  
The plane starts moving and Michael winces. I don’t know whether I should laugh or try to reassure him: dude must be hella scared of flying. Good thing for a so-called movie producer.  
Only problem is that he’s making me nervous. I take a peep with the corner of my eye and I can’t help but smile. He’s doing anything in his power not to show how terrified he is, but the stiffness of his jaw betrays him.  
I bite down my lip, but when the plane is taking off and Michael looks like he’s about to die – and I’m about to get a semi for how damn attractive he looks – I try to soothe him.  
« First time flying? It’s not that bad, you just have to go with it. »  
Michael looks at me so fiercely that I jump in my seat. Maybe he’s about to knock me out.  
Instead, he just answers me.  
« Not the first time. I’m just not overly fond of these – flying things. »  
He can barely talk.  
« We’ll balance soon. Five hours are not that long, your rich ass will be fine. »  
I grin when he scowls at me.  
« Five hours are a fucking nightmare, in economy even worse. And my ass isn’t that rich. »  
« Screw you, I saw how you were trying to buy better seats. And you said you’re a film producer. »  
« I’m an assistant producer. » he admits, eyes fixed on the seat in front of him « More like an intern. »  
« You should’ve been an actor. The quantity of bullshit that flows from your mouth is impressive. »  
Michael chuckles, and it’s the first time I see him smiling. He looks handsome.  
« I’m sorry for before, the way I snapped. It just got to my head. I didn’t want to kill you for real. »  
« Sugar, I would’ve killed you before you could say ‘ha’. You wouldn’t be the first. »  
The passenger in front of him turns and glares at me. I flip him off.  
« You wouldn’t be the first either. What’s your name? »  
« Trevor. And you’re Michael. »  
« I am Michael. »  
We fall silent for the next hour. I soon get busy with reading magazines and asking the weirdest questions to flight assistants. The last one in particular gains me a very disgruntled glare, so I shut up.  
Michael finally seems calm and comfortable. I’m glad, I mean, he looked like he was about to throw a tantrum.  
All of a sudden the plane starts shaking and hits an air pocket. I bang my head against the seat in front of me and curse under my breath. I glance at Michael to see if he’s fine and he looks like he’s got a gun pointed at his temple.  
« It’s just a turbulence. » I murmur so that only he can hear me « Breathe! »  
When he starts praying, I decide to be an inconsiderate idiot to distract him.  
« Okay, I fucking hate Los Santos, but you're making me wish I never took this flight! I’m a drug dealer, by the way. I’ve got something big in Vinewood, big money coming! »  
It may be inconsiderate, but it works. I’ve got Michael’s full attention.  
« Yeah, I’m a criminal. Now tell me your story? »  
« I’m an assistant producer. »  
« Bullshit, you’re like twenty-five, probably a poorly paid intern, and you’re wearing expensive clothing. C’mon, cowboy, there’s no way you can turn me off at this point. »  
The allusion is clear and Michael gets it. Still, he doesn’t say anything.  
He takes a deep breath and turns his upper body to face me.  
« I'm sort of a hustler. I used to sell lousy stuff for big sums, literally all rubbish. Things went down when I had to, err, get rid of some dude who wanted to sell me to the law. »  
« And how did you get into the film industry? »  
« Most of Vinewood producers are just polished hustlers. » he titters « I’ve always wanted to make movies. I’m a fanatic. It’s a long story. »  
« We’ve still got four hours. » I croon, and I feel like an idiot. No wonder why this man was a good crook, he could toss me around and I wouldn’t complain.  
« Maybe, if you’re not that busy, you could come with me on the set of this new movie. » Michael quickly adds  
« It’s going to be a success. We’re shooting in Beverly Hills, and there’s Richard Gere. For real! And also some new promising actress, Julia Roberts.»  
I smile. I couldn’t give a fuck about movies, or Richard Gere for all that matters, but I smile.  
Now I almost can’t wait to land in Los Santos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've tried to change things a bit. You can guess the year if you get the (easy) movie reference I put in.


End file.
